


in the arms of your touch

by pawn_vs_player



Series: you're getting big, you're wanting more [4]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (referring to Ego & Mantis), Alien Biology, Alternate Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Gen, Identity Issues, Inhumanity, Mantis (Marvel) Needs A Hug, Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, POV Alternating, Peter Quill Has Issues, Ravagers are not qualified to raise children, Unhealthy Relationships, but Yondu is trying, go ahead and GUESS, go ahead and guess which character/s count under that warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28230216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawn_vs_player/pseuds/pawn_vs_player
Summary: Peter Quill chooses to be human every day of his life. Some days are easier than others.sequel to "there's a certain man you know".
Relationships: Ego the Living Planet & Mantis, Groot & Mantis (Marvel), Kraglin Obfonteri & Yondu Udonta, Peter Quill & Guardians of the Galaxy Team, Peter Quill & Yondu Udonta, Rocket Raccoon & Yondu Udonta
Series: you're getting big, you're wanting more [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605130
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48





	1. so shallow and man-made

**Author's Note:**

> work & chapter titles from from Adele's "River Lea".  
> Things To Know Before Reading:  
> (1) i haven't watched vol 2 in,,, a while so there are Definitely discrepancies but let's call that part of the au, shall we?  
> (2) i made up a bunch of stuff about Mantis and Groot's species. it's all headcanon. fight me.  
> (3) WARNING: this story kicks off with Mantis POV, and explores her relationship with Ego. i tagged "Canonical Child Abuse" for this dynamic, because she stated that he "raised [her] by hand and kept [her] as his own". and some of you might say "she's an adult so that tag doesn't fit". well, adults can still be abused by their parents, and i fail to see the Ego & Mantis dynamic as anything but abusive.  
> ...you can go ahead and read the story now. merry christmas!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 will be out by new year's. in the meantime, have some angst and character study 😘

Mantis's species does not sleep. She did not understand what "sleep" was, the first time her Master requested it of her. She sent him too deep, to a mimicry of the stasis-state she enters sometimes when she is injured, or when she has spent too much of her energy.

She did not make that mistake again.

Her Master is ancient, hundreds of hundreds of times older than Mantis will ever be. He is constant, steady, relentless. She remembers being small, a wriggling helpless larva in the palm of his shining hand, his light harsh on her developing eyes; she remembers the rumble of his voice, and the care he took in holding her.

(She remembers warm tunnels and soothing clicks and the gentle press of dozens of other little bodies. She remembers the scent-taste-feel of something she has no name for.)

(She remembers little else. She was so very young when her Master came for her.)

He has much experience with little ones. Multiple times in each stage of her development, she would see him off on journeys that rarely lasted more than a handful of rotations around the nearest star. He would return with guests he called his children, all of them different from the last, all of them leaning toward him like plants seeking light. Even the ones who broadcast suspicion or anger or mistrust kept close to him, a draw they couldn't name and couldn't resist. Sometimes he would introduce her, when she was big enough. Sometimes he didn't.

They would stay for a while, as he played games with them, showed them around the great building in the middle of the sprawling gardens. They would stay, close by his side, as he told them who he was and who they were and what he believed they could be.

They would try. She knew. Every one of them tried so hard.

They would fail. And he would take them down into his core, deep enough that she couldn't feel it when he disposed of them.

Mantis's species does not sleep. After she sets her Master to his rest, she goes down the long, twisting tunnels that throb with cold illumination, fingers tracing the walls. She sits among the bones, remembers their faces, and closes her eyes.

-

The first time her Master takes Mantis with him, she stays pressed to the window as much as she can.

As they lift off, rising up and up from the planet she calls home and he calls his body, she discovers that the building she has been raised in, the only one in the world, is placed neatly between the great pits of his eyes.

It is a great occasion. She is coming with him because he has high hopes. She can feel it, buzzing through the shell of his skin, the closest thing to nervous he can feel. He's told her of this child already, the Terran (a species known for their insularity, obliviousness, and tenacity) who went from intergalactic criminal to hero of an empire.

"He held an Infinity Stone," her Master says for the fourth time. She knows better than to inform him that he is repeating himself. "No Terran I met could've done that. Most of the species I've met couldn't have done that!" He laughs, not with mirth but with pre-emptive triumph. "I should've expected it from my Brandy's boy."

He's spoken of her before: the one woman he wanted as more than bearer of his heir. Mantis thinks the woman's name was not actually Brandy, but she knows better than to ask.

"Calls himself Star-Lord, even," he chuckles. "Sounds like she taught him well."

Mantis doesn't remind her Master that Star-Lord was reportedly taken from Terra in his youth and subsequently raised in a Ravager crew. She knows her Master's feelings toward Ravagers.

"Tell me what you get from him," he orders her. She nods, keeping her eyes down. He does not like her eyes. She does not like her eyes either.

-

Star-Lord, Peter Quill, _shines_. She knows that her Master finally has his heir, after so many disappointments. He is Terran to her eyes and ears but when she reaches out and _looks_ she finds the pale luminance sprawling under his skin, held leashed behind his eyes and between his teeth.

Star-Lord, Peter Quill, has a family. She sees it in the way he looks at the crew of his ship, in the way they look back at him. In the way her Master's grip tightens on her arm as he brings her back inside their ship to let Star-Lord confer with his people.

"He is bright," she says before he asks. He does not like to wait for information. "It is difficult to see through that, but," she adds quickly, "he wants to come with you. And he wants to stay with them."

"He'll come with me," her Master declares, low and quiet and confident. "He knows them, he's been with them for long enough he'll be desperate to get away. Brandy loved me, she would've told him good things -- he'll come with me."

Mantis holds the rest of what she saw behind her teeth: the bonds stretching between each member of the group, edged in violet; a knot her Master cannot hope to untie.

-

In Groot's travels with Rocket and the rest of the Guardians, he has met a great many species. Precious few see in the way Flora colossus do; it is always a relief, to find another whose sight is not limited to their eyes.

As the others talk in loud, loud voices, Groot looks toward the smooth pale ship Peter's father and the Dictodea came from. For all that he is in a reduced state, his mind and body trimmed down to the sprout-stage until he has regenerated enough to make full use of his faculties, he has not lost his senses or his wits. The Dictodea, Mantis, has clad herself in the dark green of stability and growth, but in the shining black of her eyes Groot can see the cold, clinging fog of fear, the buried ember of anger, the faded pink of potential connection.

She is very afraid, and very alone. She looked at them as though she had never seen anyone but Peter's father before, like she was trying to burn their likenesses into her memory.

When they come back out of their ship, the ugly yellow-purple of pain is coalescing under her skin. Groot climbs up Rocket's arm (he is still not used to being so small, and he knows Rocket isn't either) and tells Rocket very firmly that Peter's father is not to be trusted.

Rocket was already loudly in opposition to Peter leaving, though, so Groot understands when Peter doesn't seem inclined to listen to Rocket now. That just means Groot will have to be louder.

"I AM GROOT!" he yells, standing on Rocket's head, and doesn't miss the brief flash of yellow-green uncertainty on Ego's face. He's not surprised; a man like that would hardly take the time and effort to parse a language made more of emotion and tone than of words.

"Groot," Peter groans. Mantis is staring at Groot, big dark eyes practically glowing with pale blue curiosity. "Buddy, come on."

"I am Groot." No, he won't be quiet. This is a bad idea, a really awful idea actually. Ego is brighter than Peter, colors more fleeting, but he doesn't hide like Peter does. There has not been a hint of love toward Peter since he arrived, only showing the bitter red of possessive desire or sour yellow mistruth. He wants Peter for something, but he doesn't want his _son._

Peter sends his father an apologetic sort of look and walks over, scoops Groot off Rocket's head and strides into the Milano. Rocket, protesting, follows them. Groot hears Gamora trying to probe Ego for more information as they head father into the ship, Rocket's bluster echoing off the walls. 

Peter walks into his room, puts Groot on the table, and sits down hard on his bunk. "I _know_ it's a bad idea, Groot."

"I am Groot?"

"Well why the fuck are you going through with it then?" Rocket demands at the same time, which is effectively the same question so Groot doesn't repeat himself.

Peter sighs. The glow under his skin flares, creating edges in his silhouette that shouldn't be there. Groot squints. He can almost see the colors of Peter's emotions in the pale luminance -- a hint of somber blue, or perhaps violet grief? Peter's eyebrows crease down, skin wrinkling around the sockets. Groot blinks once, twice, and looks at Rocket, whose own eyes are reflecting the pale glow in Peter's. "I have to go," Peter says, very quietly. "My mom couldn't -- I have to know what I am. He's the only one who can tell me that. I _have to know._ "

"No, you don't!" Rocket snaps. Groot can see the cold fear in him, rising in fog-like wisps from his fur. "Not if it'll get you and all the rest of us fucking killed because you wanted to hear your daddy talk about how cool you are!"

Peter scrubs a hand over his face and leans forward, resting his arms on his legs and his weight firmly on the balls of his feet. "Fuck you, this isn't about my _ego_ , Rocket, okay? If -- if you fucking -- imagine," he says, voice abruptly smoothing out, "imagine you ran across a scientist. One of the ones who made you."

Rocket bristles up, fear and familiar, comforting anger rising in choking clouds from his trembling body. "Fuck you, Quill -- "

"No, _listen_ to me, Rocket. Okay? Imagine. And they told you, they told you that they had all the information about what happened to you. How they changed you. And they would give it to you, but it was somewhere else and you had to come with them."

"That's a fucking _trap_ ," Rocket snarls, and Peter shoots up onto his feet.

"I _know_ , Rocket! I fucking know it is!" He sags, puts his face in his hands. Light spills from between his fingers. "But if he knows, then -- I have to know. Rocket, I _have_ to. I held a fucking Infinity Stone! If he knows how I did that -- " 

The both of them seem to have forgotten Groot is in the room. He climbs down the table with his branches, then scurries down the corridor. This is a conversation for _them_ , one he can't help with.

Outside, Drax and Mantis are sitting together. Gamora is sharpening her sword. Ego is... not in sight, which is worrying until Groot notices that the wall of his ship is closed. He's probably inside, then.

Gamora, who is just as paranoid as Rocket in her own ways, confirms this for him as soon as he comes close enough for her to whisper. "I am Groot," he says. She sighs through her nose.

"As long as they don't break anything, I'll take it." Her skin glows with hope, but Groot doesn't bring it up. She likes to pretend she doesn't feel things, and if that makes her feel safer then Groot will let her. 

He scrambles up onto the log beside Drax. Mantis is twisting her fingers together in her lap, her antennae drooping. "I am Groot?"

"This gross bug lady and I are talking," Drax says, because literalism means brutal honesty. 

"I'm learning many things," Mantis confirms. She is smiling like she is enjoying the conversation, but the movement of her fingers, the sag of her antennae, and especially the bruise-green cloud hanging around her says otherwise. "Like I'm a pet, and ugly."

Groot wishes he had the size to make his slap hurt. Not that much of anything can really hurt Drax, but if he was still full-grown there would at least be some real impact behind it.

"What was that for?" Drax demands.

"I am Groot!" Groot replies, and walks carefully along the log to sit on Mantis's leg. "I am Groot?"

"Um," Mantis says. Her hands are raised carefully away from him, but her antennae are curling down in his direction curiously. "I am -- empathic. That is what he calls it."

"I am Groot." Of course she is, she's a Dictodea. She looks surprised that he knows this. Her species is rare out in the universe, sure, but not that rare. "I am Groot?"

"Really?" Mantis asks, at the same time as Drax, apparently recovered from the offense of Groot's smack, cries out his approval. She lets out a long, slow breath, and presses a finger very gently against the top of Groot's head.

Her antennae twitch, their glow intensifying. It's like Peter's eyes, when he's too worked up to pay attention to looking the way he thinks he should. He doesn't know how much of that she picks up, but she gasps a little, her eyes going unfocused.

"You are... worried," she says, a little distantly. Drax is staring between the two of them, eyes scrunched up. "Scared. And your mind is... cramped? Oh, this is so strange -- is that normal for your species?"

"I am Groot." She can pick up on that, then. Interesting.

"Regenerating? Were you hurt?" She seems honestly concerned. Groot is only more worried, now. She is much too nice to be around Ego.

(Her concern is growing the longer she touches him. He needs to keep his thoughts in check.)

"He was mostly destroyed in our fight against Ronan of the Kree," Drax explains. "It was a most glorious battle! Did you not hear of it?"

"No," Mantis answers. "I... I rarely leave my planet. There is little news there."

The truth, but not all of it. He shrugs his head away as gently as he can, but she still snatches her hand back like he'd hit it. Groot decides that if Peter does go through with this, he's coming back with Mantis in tow.

"Me next!" Drax says. Groot doesn't quite realize what's about to happen until Mantis is already laying her hand on his arm, and is not surprised when she bursts into tears. Drax's grief is a deep, murky pool that does not ever dry up.

-

Peter is determined to go. And if Peter is going, Gamora will as well, the only one of them who can sometimes make him _think_. And with them goes Drax, for backup and because family is sacred to him in a way none of them can understand. 

But Rocket won't go. And Groot understands that, he _does_ , because he knows Rocket: knows the creaking metal coring out his bones, knows the snapping electricity running through his brain, knows the terrified animal Rocket grew out of. He knows Rocket will not go into a smooth white room, will not go with a man whose broad smile shows all his teeth, will not go to a place he has not vetted thoroughly.

And that means Groot won't go, either.

As Peter brings his bags out of the ship and gets into one last, hushed conversation with Rocket, Groot darts over to Mantis and taps on her boot until she picks him up. 

"I am Groot," he demands.

"I-I don't -- "

"I. Am. Groot." 

Her antennae are trembling. "I can't -- he's my, I -- I _can't_ \-- "

"I am Groot. I am Groot. I am Groot, I am Groot."

She closes her eyes. Her antennae pulse, feeling him out; he lets her. 

"Yes," she breathes. "Yes. I will."

"I am Groot," he replies, and hops down to run over and demand one more farewell from Gamora.

-

Rocket watches the round white ship rise and rise and reminds himself, firmly, that he'll be fine without them -- he's a hardened criminal, for fuck's sake, he doesn't _need them_.

Then he goes and sits in the hold of the _Milano_ and makes bombs, because he's good at lying to himself but not _that_ good.

-

Mantis sits by the window and watches the ground fall and fall and reminds herself, firmly, that she owes her Master everything -- he raised her, kept her safe, cares for her.

Then Peter Quill comes to stand beside her and says, "We need to talk," and she gets up and follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing groot's POV was an interesting challenge. i think i'll do it again sometime. :)


	2. cause nothing ever is enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, i completely forgot that nebula was being held on the _milano_ at the beginning of the movie. thus i am Making Shit Up to explain her absence. please bear with me.

Nebula's most recent scrape with victory stings. She had been forced to flee in order to avoid losing any chance at winning, and she knows it was the strategic choice, but it _burns_ to let her quarry out of her grasp when it was only inches from her fingertips.

No matter. She learned patience at the knee of the Great Titan himself, patience and discipline and perseverance. This setback is temporary. She will make sure of that.

-

Kraglin always wears long sleeves.

No one asks him about this. The ones he might trust enough to tell were there when it happened, and anyone new enough to ask hasn't earned his trust.

Ravaging is not a particularly sustainable lifestyle. Everyone knows that, but there are always people willing to join up -- usually a certain type of people.

Kraglin was barely an adult by his own people's reckoning when he walked down the port and signed on. He's never articulated his reasons for doing so, not even to himself, but at the time he was so desperate to get _out_ that if no ship had taken him, he'd have commandeered one. 

He owes Yondu a damn lot. His job, his freedom, his life dozens of times over. He's been with Yondu most of his life, and longer than damn near anyone else on the crew. He believes in his Cap'n.

He doesn't always agree with him. 

Usually, this is not a problem. Usually, Kraglin can just wait until the bridge empties out and then argue with Yondu in relative privacy until one of them bends. 

But today -- 

Today Kraglin's arm is throbbing like it hasn't in weeks, he hasn't slept in near three days, and his own shameful insecurities are being echoed by other dissatisfied mouths. Today Yondu came for Peter and found only part of his crew, today there is no Peter to talk to or to keep his mouth shut for. Today Kraglin is tired and three different kinds of hurt, and when he opens his mouth the harsh, bitter anger he's been shoving down for years alights on his tongue. "No matter how many times Quill betrays you, you protect him! Like none of the rest of us much matter!"

Like _Kraglin_ doesn't matter. First mate and first child and first to defend Yondu, always, except that the scars Peter Quill left on him aren't all physical and he is so fucking tired of coming second to a man Yondu can't even admit is his son.

His ears are buzzing so loud he doesn't even realize that he's started a mutiny until people are already shooting.

-

Kraglin watches his friends drift out into the cold eternity of space and digs his fingers into the throbbing scar on his arm.

-

"You're familiar with Quill's crew, right?" Taserface says. Without waiting for a reply (good, Kraglin is biting his tongue bloody trying to keep from screaming at him) he picks the little tree thing off the table, where it is now dressed in a tiny Ravagers uniform, and drops it into Kraglin's hand. He damn near drops it before the little guy wraps a vine around his thumb. "Keep an eye on it. Too cute to kill, but I don't trust it."

Kraglin looks down at the little guy. It looks back, eyes big and black and shining. 

"Yeah," he says, as close to obedient as he can bear.

"Good!" Taserface roars, claps a hand on Kraglin's shoulder (he wants to rip his fucking hand _off_ ) with enough force to make him stumble, and saunters away. 

Kraglin returns his gaze to the little guy. "I am Groot," it says, but it sounds a lot like something else.

"Why the hell wasn't Quill with you?" Kraglin asks, instead of answering.

"I am Groot."

"Fucking -- shit, really?"

"I am Groot?"

"Okay. Okay, _fuck_ , okay, we gotta -- " Kraglin bites down on his immediate impulse of _get the Cap'n, he'll know what to do_ to scan the corridor. Most of the crew (traitors, the lot of them, and Kraglin too) are in other areas, taking up the duties of the men they jettisoned. Kraglin, left on babysitting/jailor duty, has no assigned station. He starts walking, not looking at the little guy but moving him to his shoulder so he can speak more quietly. "We need the Cap'n, then. Yondu. He knows how to -- he knows Ego. How to get there, too, and -- "

He snaps his mouth shut as he approaches a busy intersection. Several people punch him companionably on the arm (his right arm, of course, because they might not talk to each other but unobservant criminals die fast) or shoot him quick greetings as he passes. Someone -- he can't be bothered to drudge up their name -- asks him why he has the tree thing on his shoulder. "Babysitting for Taserface," he answers, and they laugh and say, "that's the Cap'n to you now!" and Kraglin nods and bites down on his tongue and keeps walking.

He is _not_ the Cap'n. Never could be, never will be. 

"I can't leave you with 'em," he says, when he feels safe enough to speak again. "Taserface'll ask about it. But when we start on shifts, it'll be easier."

"I am Groot," the little guy says, and Kraglin damn near bursts into tears.

He swallows once, twice, almost chokes on the third. "Sure, li'l buddy," he says, blood thick in his mouth, and keeps moving on muscle memory alone. 

-

When she lands, it is already too late. She could tell long before she landed, but she had to be sure.

The _Milano_ lies abandoned, crates scattered and smashed around it. Its landing gear is down and its doors are open. When she stomps inside, several of the small local mammals scurry out, scraps carried in their mouths. One brushes against her leg, a there-and-gone touch, a softness she has never felt before. Were she still a weak little girl, it might have sent her to her knees.

Nebula is a Daughter of Thanos. She walks on.

There is little of traditional value left. There is a wealth of information to be found, though, which is much more desirable. 

She stands in the ransacked galley and finds herself staring at a dusty yaro root, abandoned in a cabinet. She remembers the taste, tangy and faintly sweet; remembers holding one in her tiny, weak hands; remembers clinging to the knee of a blue-skinned adult and begging for the treat. 

She picks it up. Thanos had known her childish love of the root. When they were still children, when they still had other siblings, he promised her a bowl of them if she won her battles. The first time she beat another of the children, he handed it to her before she even left the room. The grime of battle had smeared across the firm yellow flesh, and when she bit into the soft red base she had tasted only bitter blood. She had not asked for it again.

This yaro root is a pale yellow, the cluster of red tendrils at the base stiff and unmoving. It is not yet ripe.

She puts it down. She keeps moving.

-

Kraglin puts Groot down on the floor a good seven feet away from the entrance to the brig. He can hear the raccoon -- Rocket, according to Groot -- snarling and snapping, a little at Yondu and a little at Peter but mostly at the general situation, but more than that he _doesn't_ hear Yondu, and that's much more concerning.

He hates disappointing his Cap'n. 

And if Yondu thinks Kraglin did this _on purpose_ \-- Kraglin's a coward, never been too proud to admit it, and he is not gonna be able to face Yondu if his Cap'n thinks Kraglin is a real, proper mutineer. (He is, he caused this, but he didn't _mean_ _to_ , he didn't _want_ this, and it's still his fault but that has to mean something, right?)

"Go on," he mutters, nudging Groot gently toward the brig. "Your buddy's gonna be missin' you."

Groot turns and looks at him for a moment. "I am Groot," he offers, and then runs down the corridor, little feet tapping quietly along the corrugated steel.

Kraglin wipes his hand roughly across his eyes, straightens up, and walks back into the ship.

His Cap'n needs him.

-

Taserface is, to no one's surprise, fucking stupid. Kraglin's not his first mate (would never want to be) but he hasn't bothered telling the computers that. Kraglin still has all his authority in the system, and, therefore, access to all the hidden security measures he and Yondu (and the other old dogs, cold and quiet now) have installed over the years.

Ravager coats are designed for two things: making an impression and covert storage. Kraglin slips the thin, pliable pad out of his sleeve and taps, pacing around his room. Vital monitors are first, showing him the largest collections of Ravagers. Cameras are an option but they're easier to keep track of from the monitor room; he'll get there soon enough. Instead, he pulls up the list of intruder suppression options and grins, wide and cruel.

He is, after all, a Ravager. 

-

Rocket's been pacing around since the shift change. He assumes that's what it was, because not only their guards changed but so did what sounded like everyone on their level of the ship. He'd suggested using the change as an escape opportunity but Yondu had said no.

"They'll be expectin' us to try somethin', especially then. Won't do us no good to jump the gun here."

"They're gonna _kill us_ ," Rocket snarls. Yondu shifts his toothpick between his teeth and slants him a glance.

"Not yet, they ain't, if we stay where we are." And he reached down to rub gently over the top of Groot's head. "'Sides, we got ourselves a secret weapon."

Rocket gestures at Groot. "He's no secret!"

"He's not," Yondu agrees, and then the insufferable ass shuts up.

Rocket hates how much he likes the old grump.

He thinks he'd have liked being a Ravager, if it was on this crew. The old crew, anyway. He'd have shot Taserface long ago, though. And a whole lot of the others. He's not really team material.

( _Are you sure about that_ , his stupid rebellious brain says. _Shut it ,_ he snarls back, _Groot ain't a team_ , and, _He's not_ , his brain agrees, and leaves Rocket to stew in his miserable anger.)

The speaker system crackles and screeches. Rocket hisses, hunching over to press his aching ears down against his throbbing head. "The fuck is that," he grumbles.

Yondu doesn't answer.

Rocket straightens and turns, and finds Yondu _grinning_ , crooked teeth shining under the light. "That's my boy," he says, and stands up.

"I am Groot," Groot replies, clambering up Yondu's coat.

Rocket is about to demand answers when the speakers crackle again, and then -- 

"No," Rocket groans, muffled under Yondu's laughter. 

"That's my boy!" he yells, and pounds a fist against his chest. 

-

Kraglin's always liked this particular one of Peter's songs the best. He hums along under his breath, striding down the corridors, fingers flying across the pad.

He can hear, faintly, the screams and cries of people he considered crew a day ago. As he vents compartments and floods rooms with toxic gas, all he can do is bare his teeth in what can only barely be called a smile.

He is a Ravager, and he is _loyal_.

" _And the night is so long_ ," he croons, and sends another room of people flying out into space. 

-

The brig doors judder open. The guards are gone.

Yondu sets Groot firmly on his shoulder and walks out with the confidence of a man who knows exactly what's happening. Rocket would really like some of that knowledge, if you _please._

"What is _happening_ ," he growls.

"Ain't you never been in a jailbreak before?" Yondu asks, and laughs. "C'mon, we got somewhere to be."

"Fuck you," Rocket answers, and follows.

-

Kraglin stops in the monitor room. The ones left alive, those who had been in open corridors or scattered in smaller groups, are running and yelling through the honeycomb of catwalks around him.

He remote-seals the captain's quarters and sets his bag down on the floor. Then, like any good criminal, he locks the door on his way out.

-

Yondu leads them through an absolute maze of metal walkways to a locked door. "You kiddin' me?" Rocket mutters, looking up and around them. Ravager footsteps create a thumping chorus to rival the song playing over the speakers. If he wasn't so keyed-up, he'd be enjoying himself.

"Nah," Yondu says, and the door swings open. He tromps up a short staircase and pauses.

Rocket slinks around his legs and stares up at a curved wall of improvised view-screens. "Fuck yeah," he says, and turns to find Yondu digging through a bag. "What's that?"

"Part of our secret weapon," Yondu replies, and pulls a red... thing out. It has a flat probably-base and a wavy fin shape to it. "Help me with this, will ya?" He hands it to Rocket and sits down on the steps, facing the door. "Gotta get it installed."

Rocket's been trying not to look at the ugly patch of bared circuits and torn wires (it makes the steel scaffolding in his back _ache_ ), but he wants to get the hell out of here so he swallows his discomfort and does it. His small, thin fingers work quickly with this as they do with most other tech. He connects the last few wires and the fin glows, light tracing its curves and circuits before fading. Yondu stands, rising with his arrow in his hand and the bag crumpled and empty on the floor.

Above them, the song stutters, stops, and begins again.

"That boy," Yondu sighs, crooked teeth gleaming. He stands in front of the monitors, spine straight and proud, and whistles. The arrow disappears through the wall and reappears in a red blur as it weaves through a packed hallway. Ravagers cry out and crumble to the ground.

On one of the monitors, Rocket notices a familiar hallway and a man stomping down it. He takes aim.

-

The enormous Ravager ship had been halted for a few hours before people started coming out of it.

Nebula steers around a cloud of bodies and aims for a hangar, opened likely as someone tried to flee. With the sheer volume of bodies drifting by, she doubts they made it.

Oh well. Their wellbeing is not her concern. There are only three beings on this ship she needs alive.

-

"I am Groot!" Groot yells, pointing at a screen. Rocket turns to it, squinting. 

"Oh, fuck yeah," he mutters. "It's that Brainmelt guy, Yondu."

Yondu's eyes flick over to the screen, and narrow. His arrow is damn near on the other side of the ship, as far as Rocket can tell, and it has to work its way through a few more Ravagers before it'll get there.

Rocket's eyes slide over a bit and snag. "Oh. Uh. That's the guy, isn't it? The Abfun-somethin' guy." The guy doesn't even seem to have a fucking gun on him, just a thin tablet and the hilt of a knife sticking out of his boot. Rocket gets feeling safe on your own ship, but this is a _Ravager_ ship, and also it's under attack.

"I am Groot," Groot corrects. Alright, _Obfonteri_ , cool. Whatever.

"Where's he?" Rocket leans closer, compares hallways. "Oh, _fuck_."

-

He's turning a corner, closing the door on a group of Ravagers fleeing Yondu's arrow, when an arm slams into his chest with what feels like the force of a fucking gunshot. He's rammed up against the wall, gasping, the pad clattering to the floor. Taserface looms up against him, his half-melted flesh shining oddly under the lights of the corridor.

"You did this," he snarls, pressing harder. Kraglin's fucking ribs creak. "I know you did, you or that tree and you _had_ the tree, one of you got the fin and it _had_ to be you who's been closing doors, how? How did you do this?!" He leans closer, sliding his arm up to where Kraglin's neck meets his shoulders. " _You_ started the mutiny, Obfonteri, why the _fuck_ would you betray us now? Your own crew? Your own _captain_?"

Red flashes out of the corner of his eye. Taserface gasps, coughs, slides ever-so-slowly down Kraglin's body to the floor.

"You," Kraglin rasps, rubbing his throat, watching dark blood pool under Taserface as the man chokes on his own lungs, "are _not_ my captain."

He picks up the pad, kicks Taserface right in the fucking balls, and turns to face his rescuer.

She puts a dripping knife to his throat and snarls, "Where is Udonta and the fox?"

-

She walks her captive (Kraglin Obfonteri, according to him -- he seems to be a nervous talker, which is annoying, but not enough to kill him) along the route he directs. She also allows him to continue fiddling with his pad, once he explains that all he can do is trigger measures that will effect large areas: he cannot attempt to harm her without endangering himself. Besides -- for all that she is not afraid of battle, it is undeniably more efficient to face a smaller force.

"Here, this's it. They oughta be in here."

She pulls Obfonteri to one side, keeping her knife close to his neck, and kicks the door open.

"Udonta!" she yells. There is a quiet, shrill noise.

"Cap'n, no, she could be helpful!" Obfonteri yelps. She jerks to one side: a red blur zips past her head, into the hand of the blue man with a cybernetic fin on his head. Udonta.

(It has been a long time since she was around blue people who were not Kree. It is... strange. Not quite familiar, but close enough to ache.)

"Release my first mate, Daughter of Thanos, and I'll consider helpin' ya." The fox raises his guns at her. The small tree thing (it is so very small. It had been taller than her, the last time they met) cranes his head up and says -- something. There are words, but the meaning is elsewhere.

"Help me, and I'll consider letting him go," Nebula replies. The fox chuckles with little humor.

"What d'ya want _my_ help with?" Udonta asks. His teeth flash in the light, crooked and misaligned. 

"I will find my sister," Nebula says, lifting her chin. "I will bring her to our father, and when he is occupied with her, I will kill him."

There is a pause.

"...that's never gonna work," the fox says. She snaps her head down to glare at him. "What? It's not!"

"It's pretty bare-bones," Obfonteri agrees timidly. "Like, how are you gonna kill him? What if you can't surprise him? What if he just kills your sister right away, before you get a chance?"

"Be _quiet_ ," Nebula snarls. It is all she has. It is her only chance.

She is a Daughter of Thanos. She will endure, and when the time is right, she will _destroy._

"You want to find your sister," Udonta says. "Well, I know where she oughta be."

Nebula's focus snaps back to him. 

(His skin is a different blue to hers. Lighter. Brighter. It hurts.)

(He looks nothing like Thanos.)

"But," Udonta continues. "If we're gonna bring you to her, you gotta help us bring her _and the others_ back."

The others -- the rest of her sister's crew. The angry Kylosian who thought he could kill Ronan in single combat, and the Terran. Peter Quill.

The man who held an Infinity Stone.

(Thanos was rather interested in him.)

"Fine," Nebula says. "But you will let me take my sister afterward."

The fox and Udonta look at each other. The tree says, "I am Groot." It sounds vaguely persuasive.

"If you _can_ take her," the fox says eventually, "we won't stop you."

"That is acceptable." (The broken girl-child in Nebula's bones wails _no, it isn't, she always wins._ The woman held together with steel and wires answers _yes, it is, she will lose someday._ )

"Great. Could you move your knife now, please?" 

Nebula scoffs and shoves him forward. He stumbles into the doorframe and winces as metal collides with his no doubt bruised collarbone.

"Cap'n," he says very quietly. The fox jumps down and scurries out the door, the tree on his shoulder.

"We'll let you two talk that out," he yells over his shoulder, and meets Nebula's eyes. "They're gonna talk about _feelings._ Wanna go raid the galley?"

"...yes," she decides. If this is a trap, she is confident that she can defeat these two, and Udonta will be alive to navigate.

"Great," the fox says. "This way, I think."

Nebula follows, blade in hand.

-

Worn out, eyes aching, Kraglin sits on the bridge with his Cap'n.

"To Ego," Yondu murmurs, and reaches out to rest his fingers over the old scar on Kraglin's arm.

"To Quill," Kraglin answers. Yondu smiles at him.

"To Quill," he agrees, and takes hold of the controls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who read my stories this year. if you're new, if you've been here for a while; if you comment regularly or lurk over the kudos button: _thank you._ i know i've posted like 4 times this entire year, but without feedback i wouldn't write at all. i love you all 😘.  
> i'll see you next year. may 2021 be at least slightly less apocalyptic than 2020.


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